


Crepes and Canoodles

by Crazyrose912, strangesea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baker Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bakery, Baking, Fluff, Gardener Crowley (Good Omens), Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26548573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyrose912/pseuds/Crazyrose912, https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesea/pseuds/strangesea
Summary: With the Apocalypse averted, an angel and a demon retire to Tadfield. When Aziraphale becomes peckish for a new hobby, he picks up baking. Crowley is thrilled with the new opportunity to spread greed and gluttony across the small town.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my co/author this has turned into a really fun and super sweet fic. This is for the GO POV Pairs event. We switch of POV between Aziraphale and Crowley every chapter. We will work on posting a new chapter about every other week, but that may change. I hope you enjoy this fluffy baking fic.

Aziraphale was quite enjoying himself for the first few months after the Apocalypse. He and Crowley had moved to a cottage in Tadfield. Crowley was growing a beautiful garden, with the most luxurious plants Aziraphale had ever seen. Aziraphale had a whole room just for his books, though they crept all over the little cottage. He would sit in his chair and read for hours. Crowley would sometimes sit by him as he read. Crowley would spend a lot of his time in his garden, making sure his plants were terrified. 

Most nights they would settle on the couch with a few bottles and talk. They would talk about dolphins and krakens and Shakespeare plays. Sometimes they would talk about Adam. Aziraphale really liked this time with Crowley. They never felt rushed, never felt the need to do their next assignment. They could just be them. They often would end up cuddling together on the couch, one of them drifting off to sleep on the other. 

Sometimes Aziraphale would dream about his bookshop. He didn’t miss selling his books, per sé, but he missed the people and having to rearrange the books. There were people like mint, that were cool and distant, yet they liked not so common old literature. They were always hanging around his store. There were people that reminded him of fairy satins, that were light and bubbly; always on the move, flitting from shelf to shelf and store to store. They never lingered for very long. There were some people that were like smoked salmon, that had a more grizzled look and browsed for hours, skimming each book for something awesome. Sometimes they would sit in one of his chairs and read a book for a while. Luckily for him they never bought a book. He loved that all different kinds of people would walk in. If he was being at all honest with himself, he was a little bit peckish for something new.

After so many years of running a bookshop he was so used to feeling the bustle of the shop: having to keep an eye on stray children, making sure people became discouraged from buying his books, keeping the shelves tidy and in order. Now he was feeling a little underwhelmed. He needed something new to keep him busy. It would give him a little something to do around the cottage.

He decided he would talk to Crowley about it later in the evening. Maybe Crowley would have some ideas for the angel. He looked at the TV. It was something Crowley had shown him how to use, but he hadn’t tried to use before. He pressed a button to turn it on. It blinked to life and started talking. He was enthralled by the people inside a white tent baking all sorts of sweets. He suddenly had an idea.

***

Later that evening, Crowley was quite drunk and laying on the couch, most dastardly. His limbs were spread out and he looked quite like a snack. Aziraphale was feeling the lightness in his head as he sat across from Crowley in his comfy chair. He was trying to sit properly, but he was failing miserably. He kept leaning forward, towards that delicious looking demon. He shook his head and tried to remember what he wanted to say. 

“Crowley, my dear, I was wondering if you were feeling bored with our current arrangement,” Aziraphale said, broaching the subject gently.

“Of course not,” Crowley drawled. He sat up. “Are you?”

“Well...not exactly,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips. “I am just feeling a bit peckish for something new.”

“Peckish for something new?” Crowley repeated. “Do you want to go to a new restaurant?”

“No. I mean that might be nice, but I meant something.. like a new hobby or some such.” Aziraphale sat for a minute as he gathered his thoughts. Crowley sat up to pour himself more to drink. Aziraphale’s eyes followed him automatically. “I’ve had to look after my bookshop for hundreds of years, and now without it I need something to do with all this free time.”

“Oh, okay.” Crowley nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, though he couldn’t hide a small smile. “I was thinking I would try my hand at baking.”

“Baking? Why baking? I mean, I know you like to eat treats, but have you ever even tried to bake anything?”

“Nope.” Aziraphale smiled brightly. “Which is why I want to try. I mean we could try it out together.” 

“Nah, baking is your thing, angel. I am too busy with my garden.”

The next day Aziraphale dragged Crowley to the store. They bought pots, pans, measuring tools, and mixers. Crowley eyebrows shot up when Aziraphale dumped 4 bags of flour, 5 cartons of eggs, and 7 packets of sugar into their cart. 

“How much baking do you plan to do, angel?” Crowley asked suspiciously. “Seems like an awful lot of stuff.”

Aziraphale turned away and grabbed some fruit. “Well, I found a few recipe books in my collection. I was hoping to try out a lot of different sweets. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s no problem at all, angel. I’m just worried it will take us a few years to get through all this stuff.” Crowley eyed the contents of Aziraphale’s arms. “Fruit? We don’t need fruit.”

“Yes, we do.” Aziraphale placed several containers of strawberries, blackberries, grapes, apricots, and blueberries into the cart.

“I have a garden full of fruit.” Crowley grabbed them to put them back. “You can use that.”

Aziraphale glowered at Crowley. “Your garden does not have strawberries. Nor do you have grapes. Put them back.”

Crowley scowled, but acquiesced. “I can grow all these for you,” He grumbled.

“I know you can. But until you have strawberries by the dozen you will not argue with me about buying fruit,” Aziraphale said matter of factly. They paid for their heap of ingredients and supplies and loaded them into the Bentley. 

Back at the cottage, they started moving everything into the kitchen. Aziraphale tried to put everything to the pantry, but soon found it was too full. He decided to leave the rest of the groceries on the counter as he went to fetch his stack of cookbooks. He dropped them with a thud on the counter, and scoured through their contents until he found a recipe for a simple chocolate cake. He rifled around and filled the counter with ingredients and a bowl.

Aziraphale threw on an apron, which he soon covered in flour as he started to mix ingredients together in the bowl. He followed the recipe as best he could, though perhaps not up to some angelic standards. In a spectacular failure of ethereal omniscience, he found he had forgotten to buy any buttermilk, so he made do with regular milk and lemon juice. He kept clumsily adding in ingredients until he was left with a creamy chocolaty soup mixture. He poured the mixture into a cake pan and stuck it into the hot oven, being extra careful not to touch the metal prongs. Even an angel could only stomach so much burning.

Aziraphale turned back to the table and pursed his lips. He wouldn’t mind having a few more desserts, and he wanted to try out so many recipes, so he flipped through some of his cookbooks and found a recipe for some sugar cookies. He got down another bowl from the top shelf and started rummaging around for the new ingredients he needed. As he mixed the ingredients it started getting a lot thicker. Aziraphale huffed in frustration as he grabbed the bowl and used all his human might to stir the batter. His muscles flexed under his shirt and pulled it tight. Aziraphale was feeling hot, so he tossed the cookie batter into the fridge and walked into the living room. He removed some layers and carefully folded them onto the couch, until he was left in his blue button up shirt.

Aziraphale returned to the kitchen and thought to himself that sugar cookies are the best with frosting on top. So Aziraphale dumped some powdered sugar and some milk into a bowl, guessing at the right amounts, to make the frosting. He grabbed the hardened dough from the fridge and tussled with it to lay out onto a portion of the table that he had covered with flour. He cut the dough into little circles. He couldn’t help but think they looked a little bit like halos. He had been surrounded with halos ever since he could remember. He felt a little bittersweetness at the thought of Heaven, and all the angels that had looked down on him for so long. They no longer irritated him by dropping by and giving him orders. In fact, he hadn’t heard from them since his ‘trial’. He felt a wave of warmth as he remembered how Crowley had helped him that day. He was very grateful for Crowley, for having their own side.

Aziraphale tossed the cookies onto a cookie sheet and put them into the oven. He felt sheepish when he saw the cake sitting in the oven, only then remembering to pull it out. It was burnt almost beyond recognition. Aziraphale set a timer on for the cookies, determined not to let them turn out bad.

He felt so full of energy; baking was giving him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in quite a while. He could keep going all day, so he decided he wanted to try making a strawberry cake. He was quite fond of strawberries. Their red color reminded him of someone in particular. He found a recipe and started to mix ingredients together. 

He kept baking the rest of the day and didn’t stop until he had a whole table full of all different kinds of desserts. Some didn’t look edible, others looked like masterpieces. He had a very burnt looking chocolate cake, some apple strudels. A perfect looking angel cake sat alongside his strawberry cake that hadn’t turned out as well as he had hoped. The halo cookies were looking perfect, complete with white frosting. His face fell as he poked at the chocolate cake, which looked like it had burn scars across its otherwise smooth surface. Soot crumbs flecked off and tainted the white dish.

This glum train of thought was interrupted when Crowley sauntered in. Aziraphale knew he was eyeing the disaster that was the kitchen. The counters were covered in flour and sticky ingredients, and the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, which overflowed onto the counter. The only area spared from the tide of chaos was the table where the desserts were laid out. Aziraphale reached up and ran a hand through his hair, which disturbed the flour resting there, creating a little cloud in the air.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Crowley commented, chuckling lightly.

“Well. Yes. But I’m afraid only some of them turned out.” Aziraphale looked sadly at his disasters of cakes. They did not look at all how he had hoped they would be. He wasn’t expecting perfection, but he was an angel. He should be able to bake a decent cake.

Crowley sat across from him at the table. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s your first time baking.” He gestured to some of the better-looking cakes. “I’m impressed at how many you got to turn out. You should be very proud of yourself, angel.”

Aziraphale turned a hopeful gaze on Crowley. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course, angel.” Crowley smiled softly. “Have you tried any of them yet?”

“No. I suppose you don’t actually know if they are any good until you taste them.” Aziraphale eyed them suspiciously.

“I could watch you eat cake all day,” Crowley said, settling himself into his chair, as if to watch his favorite show.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, grabbed two forks and a knife. He gave a fork to Crowley, giving him puppy eyes. He cut into the angel cake and tasted it. It didn’t taste terrible, to his surprise. Next, he grabbed a cookie, which startled him with how delectable it was.

“Oh. These are good.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “Crowley, you must have a bite!” He reached towards the angel food cake.

“Mmm. I’m good to just watch you eat.”

Aziraphale blushed slightly. “Just a bite. I want your opinion on how they turned out.”

Crowley haphazardly dipped his fork into the strawberry cake and shoved it into his mouth. It reminded Aziraphale of every dessert shared over millennia of friendship, Crowley swallowing his bites without chewing at even the fanciest restaurants. He never took the time to enjoy the flavors like Aziraphale did; the demon hurried through his portion so he could watch the angel eat. While of course the attention was flattering, Aziraphale wished he could have more time to quietly revel in sharing the meal.

Aziraphale unconsciously licked his lips. He resisted the urge to reach out and wipe a crumb from Crowley’s lips. It sat tantalizing him on Crowley’s plump pink lips. How he loved Crowley’s lips, the feeling of them, soft and scrumptious as devil’s food cake. He remembered the first time he tasted them, the feel of them on his.

He was suddenly pulled out of his train of thought by Crowley talking. “It’s good, angel.” He tried a bite of the angel cake. “Real good. Told you, you should be proud.” Aziraphale reddened further and he looked down. “So, what are we going to do with all these cakes?”

“Eat them I guess.” Aziraphale shrugged. He looked at all the cakes on the table. “I better get busy then.” He eyed Crowley. “Enjoy the show.”

Crowley smirked. “Oh, I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that this fic will be updating every other week~  
> Hope y'all enjoy Crowley's take on Aziraphale's hobby!

Crowley, despite never having quite taken to limbs as applied to himself, let alone digits, loved Aziraphale’s fingers. 

He loved fingers gently trailing down the spine of books until determined eyes sharpened at the sight of the desired title. He loved those fingers delicately turning page after antique page, as the words within evoked slight smiles, affected sighs, the occasional wet sniff.

He loved fingers mindlessly crumbling bread for Tadfield Pond’s resident ducks as a slight breeze caressed blond curls. He hated to admit it, but his insides turned liquid at those fingers then lacing through his, swinging lightly together as they made their ambling return to their cottage.

And of course, of course he loved fingers delicately bringing a pastry to a mouth ready to purse in delight. He loved fingers warming around a mug of cocoa, toes curling inside ridiculous tartan socks in pleasure of yet another brilliant human comfort.

So when Aziraphale announced his new project, Crowley was privately thrilled at the idea of watching impeccably manicured fingers knead dough and pipe buttercream roses. It seemed quite fitting that in their post-apocalyptic haven, the angel would turn from misprinted Bibles and books of prophecy to something wholly human to ground them in the present.

As with all of Aziraphale’s endeavors, the angel dove in wholeheartedly. The collector’s excitement at amassing a veritable hoard of bowls, measuring cups, tasting spoons, rolling pins, chocolate molds, and more ingredients than strictly ought to have fit inside their modest pantry was infectious. Crowley, nettled by the sudden appearance of store-bought produce, found himself pulled into a parallel shopping spree. The cottage garden expanded by several acres while miraculously remaining within its previous confines, and slowly filled in with a variety of fruits and berries that would have impressed the most dedicated farmer, and perplexed any food historian.

Thus a new routine was born, another step on the path of Their Side. In the morning, Aziraphale would slip out of bed to bake their daily sourdough. Crowley would either escape the siren song of silk sheets to watch those beloved fingers and strong shoulders work a loaf that would be just like in that village in 1526, or slip back into a catnap until the angel roused him with a cup of coffee and promises of fresh bread and jam. He’d take a few bites, hum his approval, and happily watch Aziraphale eat his breakfast. They’d clean up the human way, together, and then the angel would retreat to the library while Crowley checked on the terror levels of his plants. The smell of pastries would prompt him to gather a bouquet as a gift of gratitude for access to Aziraphale’s afternoon tea (and scones, and lemon meringues, and an endless assortment of mini tarts), which invariably drifted into an angel and a demon making their way through several bottles of wine.

***

Crowley prided himself on a great many things, but prime among them was his imagination. He Fell for it, of course, but the exile had brought freedom to answer so many questions. Of course his genius wasn’t universally appreciated, but the inglorious results kept him on the good bad tolerable side of the demons who really mattered.

Then came the birth of the Antichrist, and for eleven years Crowley imagined. He imagined being godfathers, an all-too-human boy relinquishing his power, the Earth and its humans surviving. It was a long shot, and yet when the end came, that same infernal imagination proved key to saving the day.

Now, he could imagine that after six long millenia, he had finally found his way back to Eden. Of course, black skinny jeans showed off his ass in a way antediluvian robes never could, and Eden’s greenery hadn’t trembled at his approach - but if he closed his eyes, breathed in the scents, basked in the sun so warm on his skin, he could almost believe himself transported. He reopened his eyes, exhaled slowly, blinked at the blackberry bush before him. Eden had been paradise for the humans. This cottage was his. There was no need to pretend. With that surety, Crowley cradled his basket of berries to his chest and meandered back inside. Aziraphale would be pleased with this bounty, and perhaps they’d have blackberry danishes with their wine tonight. 

***

When the angel’s first attempts had disappointed, he simply rolled up his shirtsleeves and studied what had gone awry. Crowley, sensing a chance to bring Aziraphale to modernity, showed him how to find episodes of Julia Child, and Aziraphale’s natural wariness of electronics faded as he admitted that perhaps there was something to be learned from this whole television business after all. Sometimes Crowley wandered back from the garden early to watch Aziraphale studiously following Julia’s instructions to the letter. It was nice somehow, watching his angel experience the unique joy of developing for himself a skill he had often admired in others.

Yet something was wrong. Aziraphale’s eyes were tight at the edges when presenting his newest creations, and the angel wasn’t savoring his work as much as Crowley had expected. The quality of the food couldn’t have been the issue; Crowley always dutifully sampled a bite, and even he knew that the flavors were at least on par with food that always evoked angelic moans. He was lost, but pressing Aziraphale for answers never worked well. This conversation would require a gentle hand and a heavy pour.

So, as Crowley pushed the door open with his hip and deposited his harvest on the counter, he projected millenia of charm into his smile. “What’s for tea, angel?” he asked, sauntering over to examine the neat tray on the table.

“Cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon bites, almond scones. Would you prefer darjeeling or lapsang souchong, my dear?”

“Darjeeling.” Crowley moved to put the kettle on, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist as the angel walked past him.

Aziraphale leaned into the touch for a moment, then bustled on. “Are these blackberries for now?”

“I was thinking you could make danishes with them, you liked those cherry ones you did last week.” This apparently was the right thing to say; the angel’s eyes lit up with the request, which gave Crowley the confidence to push further. “Could pair them with that Riesling tonight.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, yes that sounds wonderful. Do try a scone while they’re still warm.”

Crowley broke off a morsel and popped it in his mouth distractedly. “Absolutely delicious,” he murmured. He wasn’t lying - the dough was perfectly chewy, the butteriness well balanced by the spices - but in his world, food was best enjoyed via angelic proxy. Unfortunately, said proxy was intently watching his reaction rather than partaking.

“You should put some of the cream on, darling.”

So Crowley did, and when licking his fingers clean caused Aziraphale to flush ever so slightly before clearing his throat and turning away to start steeping the tea, Crowley decided he might even go for seconds. In fact, the more interest he showed in the food rather than Aziraphale’s consumption of it, the more the angel seemed comfortable with enjoying the food himself. Could Aziraphale be embarrassed of the way he appreciated eating? Crowley dismissed the thought; the duo had shared plenty of meals over their long lives, and Aziraphale had never shown signs of stage fright before.

Fortunately, the redhead’s initial enthusiasm seemed to embolden the blond even after Crowley pushed his plate away and simply settled in to watch. “You’re becoming quite the baker, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate your encouragement for this whole flight of fancy.”

“Yeah, well. Wouldn’t do to have you calling the whole retirement thing off.”

“Crowley, you know as well as I do that being a principality was never my top choice of profession.”

“Oh yeah, you were much more dedicated to being a bookshop owner.” Crowley grinned over his teacup. “Jumping at every chance to pawn a book off on some sod, you were.”

Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. “Yes, well, it’s quite a relief to have my private collection safe from prying eyes here.”

“You know, angel, you never had to display any of them. You didn’t actually need a front to avoid human suspicion.”

“Well,  _ some _ of us were trying to help humanity, and you can’t fix what you don’t understand.”

“Go on Twitter and you’ll understand humanity well as anything.” He laughed at the angel’s longsuffering sigh and stood up. “Come on, angel, what say I pull out that Riesling and I show you what the Internet is up in arms about today?”

“Instructive as I’m sure that would be, my dear, I think I shall pass up the opportunity,” Aziraphale said dryly. “Wine sounds good though.” He hesitated, as if gathering courage, then asked, “Do you still want danishes?”

“Of course, angel. Got you a whole basket of berries for em, didn’t I?”

Aziraphale smiled in obvious relief. The expression passed quickly, but Crowley mulled it over as he cleared the table and washed the dishes. Aziraphale had not expected him to be serious about his request, but hoped that he was, despite not actually needing Crowley’s interest to make danishes. In fact, the angel had never seemed particularly concerned before as to whether his companion actually ate at their meals until the baking began, when the food actually came from him. Crowley had done enough hissing at plants to not embarrass him in front of garden guests to get the need for a bit of outside validation, and now that he understood the problem, he could concoct a plan to fix it.

Soon, dessert was ready. Wine was poured. An angel sat primly across from a demon sprawling as if his life depended on it. Crowley just needed to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

His opportunity came when Aziraphale rose to take off his apron. “What’d you even wear that for? You know you can just miracle the stains off.”

“You see,” Aziraphale said with an exaggeratedly patient air, “some of us prefer to dress for life’s occasions rather than, say, garden in the same get-up as that in which one might frequent a nightclub.”

“‘Dress for life’s occasions’? Bit rich coming from A.Z. `three-piece-suit to the market’ Fell, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well, being a bookseller has its perks.”

“Is that why you did it then?” Crowley grinned. “The constant dread of giving up one of those books was worth it to play dress up?”

“I was a bookkeeper so I could be a regular part of those humans’ lives, as you well know. Besides, when one’s best friend is adamantly anti-literate, one must keep other company.”

“Had a proper little book club going, did you?”

“Well, no, not a book club exactly, but it was... _ nice _ to talk about literature to an interested audience. I’m sure you feel the same at greenhouses.”

“Sure,” Crowley lied. In actuality, he had been trying to minimize any conversation with Plant People ever since learning that therapeutic conversations with plants were meant to be  _ encouraging _ had caused the demon to lose any shred of respect he’d previously held for them. “D’you feel the same about baking too, then?”

Aziraphale shifted a bit uncomfortably. Crowley had guessed correctly; judging from the angel’s gulp of wine, he had hoped they wouldn’t have this conversation for another 200 years. “I appreciate our teas together, dear.”

“Wouldn’t give those up for anything, angel. Doesn’t mean you don’t want someone else to share with, though.” He paused there, but Aziraphale seemed intent on studiously memorizing every detail of the rug rather than meeting Crowley’s eye, so he pressed on: “You  _ should _ do that. Share with the humans, I mean. Could even start a bakery.”

Aziraphale was silent for so long that Crowley began to fear he had once again gone too fast. The demon was preparing to change the subject when Aziraphale finally spoke up. “I thought we came here to retire together.”

“We did. We are retired. From the whole miracling thing.  _ Paperwork _ .” He scrunched up his face in exaggerated disgust until his angel couldn’t help but laugh. “If you ran a bakery yourself, you wouldn’t have to do paperwork though. Could just...do like you did the bookshop. Show some humans the light of baked goods.”

A faint smile. “My dear, I think everyone knows about baked goods.”

“Yeah, and you weren’t the only bookshop in London either. But some humans liked your bookshop best. You’re a talented baker, Aziraphale. There’s people around here who would love your pastries best.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Aziraphale began, but Crowley cut him off.

“And I  _ know _ you’d enjoy seeing those pastries properly appreciated,” he said, taking a bite out of a danish and very deliberately licking the crumbs off his upper lip. “Just because they’re not my thing doesn’t mean they’re not spectacular, angel.”

Aziraphale seemed thoroughly flustered, so Crowley sipped at his wine in companionable silence until the shock wore off. They resumed conversation as they always have in their eternal dance, touching lightly on safe topics until the angel was ready for another grand push. And hey, the interim could be worse, Crowley thought to himself as they eventually made their way upstairs to a hypercontemporary bed covered in tartan quilts. He burrowed his way under all of them, his angel close behind. It could definitely be worse.

***

The next morning dawned all too early, as was the case with every morning. Aziraphale had slipped away while Crowley peacefully floated in half-consciousness, so when the demon finally rolled out of bed, he fully expected the bustling angel to have breakfast ready in the kitchen. With a snap, he was dressed for the day, his bedhead now on the fashionable side of disheveled. A forked tongue flicked out to sample the scents floating through the air so that he could match his cologne to whatever Aziraphale was baking, and there was the first clue. No smell of bread or muffins wafted from the kitchen; the only smells were those of two man-shaped beings and their garden.

Crowley blessed himself. He should have brought up the issue with more finesse, he should have reassured Aziraphale more fervently, he should have...he shouldn’t have done  _ anything _ , if what he’d said put an end to Aziraphale’s new passion. He hurried downstairs, desperate to apologize.

In the end, he found Aziraphale in the garden, frowning at the lavender. Crowley rushed over, a million different apologies and the various ways in which they would backfire running through his head.

“Hey, angel.”

Crowley paused there to silently congratulate himself on a strong start. Nice and casual, not diving straight into it. Now to follow it up with something clever - not too clever, wouldn’t want Aziraphale to feel like he was being tempted into anything - but something that would open up the dialogue. If Aziraphale was ready for it. Fuck, what if he came here to be alone and Crowley barging in had just made everything even worse?

Fortunately for Crowley’s nerves, Aziraphale spoke up almost immediately.

“You know, my dear, I’ve always admired your green thumb.” His tone was chirpy and matter-of-fact, nothing at all like what Crowley was expecting. While a positive twist to the morning, it didn’t really help kickstart his brain, so he settled for making a series of sounds that didn’t quite formulate words until Aziraphale continued. “Oh, goodness, I quite forgot to make your usual espresso! I’m sorry, my love, I just got so carried away imagining how we’d decorate the bakery that I didn’t notice the time.” He took Crowley’s hand, led him back inside, and deposited him on a chair before turning to the espresso machine.

Crowley waited until Aziraphale had made the tea and coffee and started on buttering a small mountain of toast to ask what he considered to be a very restrained question, all things considered. “What?”

“Oh come now, I must have told you about how impressive I find the garden before now. Not that I approve of your methods, of course, but-”

“The other bit.”

“I thought that, since after all you were the one who mentioned me running a bakery, you wouldn’t mind me borrowing your grand vision for the finer details. Though I do understand if you’d rather I get plants from elsewhere, and keep your garden intact.”

Crowley stole a slice of toast to buy time while he pondered this turn of events, and the two man-shaped beings ate in quiet for a few minutes. “You should use the plants from my garden,” he eventually permitted.

Aziraphale beamed. “Thank you so much, my dear!”

“It’s gonna be your vision though. I’ll help, but it has to be what you want. Alright?”

The angel squeezed his hand. “Alright. But truth be told, I don’t even know where to start. With the bookshop, I already had the books and was running out of storage room, even with minor miracles. It developed quite organically, as it were.”

“Don’t suppose I could interest you in Pinterest?”

Aziraphale looked at him suspiciously. “Wasn’t that one of yours?”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “It may have been. Then how about getting a space in person and developing from there?”

A thoughtful nod. “That would certainly make the whole notion much more solid.”

Crowley shoved the rest of the toast in his mouth, stood, and offered a hand to Aziraphale. “Then we should get going, angel. I think a real estate agent will be expecting us in a half hour.”

Aziraphale took his hand and pressed a kiss to it before standing. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Ngk, yeah. Wouldn’t do to have you waiting a century to make a move.”

“How lucky I am to have you miracle realtors my way, then.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but held Aziraphale’s hand a little tighter as the two embarked upon the first step of their new adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes up with a title for the bakery and Opening day of the Bakery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this fluffy chapter. Thanks for all the wonderful comments and kudos so far. :)

Aziraphale was worried. He was more than worried, he was terrified. Crowley, being the absolute fiend that he was, had gone and bought a perfect little spot in the center of town for Aziraphale to start his own little bakery. It had everything he needed: ovens, counters, and a display case. There were even a few tables and chairs in the main part of the cafe for customers to sit and mingle while they ate his food. 

Crowley had plans to put plants inside his shop, saying he needed to liven up the inside. Aziraphale knew it was just a ploy so Crowley could spend time at Aziraphale’s cafe, but he was grateful for it. He knew he would miss spending time with Crowley if they were separated all day.

Crowley was convinced that Aziraphale would be so busy with completing orders that Crowley would need to step in at the cash register. Aziraphale wasn’t so sure. He had a hard time believing that people would actually like his desserts, considering how burnt his first few tries had turned out. He had improved, but there were still mishaps, especially when he was distracted by a particular gardener outside his window. He did like the idea of Crowley being around his shop and helping him with customers, though maybe it would be better for the grouchy demon to hang out in the back. Don’t want him scaring off all the customers.

Aziraphale had gone into panic mode and started baking an incredible amount of food after Crowley had shown him the shop, practicing some new recipes for his cafe. He didn’t want to keep all the desserts so he had been giving them away to neighbors and strangers. They had visited Adam and his friends, giving each of them a basket full of desserts. They gave them sugar cookies shaped like dinosaurs, aliens, and dogs, macaroons, pumpkin bread, strawberry and apple pies, and even a cheesecake. Aziraphale was sure their parents were suspicious of where they kept getting all the sweets from. Sometimes Aziraphale would drop whole loaves of bread at their neighbors' doors early in the morning, making sure not to give any of his misshapen ones away.

Crowley sauntered into the kitchen, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts. He set a basket full of fresh strawberries down on the counter. He had been bringing in a lot more fruit for Aziraphale. Aziraphale was happy to see that Crowley was growing out his garden, though he was a little guilty at all the plant torture it invoked.

“It smells good in here, angel.” Crowley said as he put his arms around Aziraphale. Aziraphale was in the middle of mixing cream for cannolis, so he couldn’t return the embrace, but he turned his head and gave Crowley a quick peck.

“Thank you, dear. I am going to need your help putting some supplies into the car.” Aziraphale went back to the cream.

“We can just miracle everything over to the shop. That’ll be much faster.” Crowley sauntered around the kitchen, eyeing the scones. He picked one up and put some honey on it. 

“That would be cheating. And I would rather drive over, and set it up the way I want. You can bring some plants to start sprucing up the place.” Aziraphale put the filling into a bag and started piping it into the cannolis.

“Whatever you want, angel. Didn’t you have a chocolate cake earlier?” 

“Yeah. I gave it away, to make sure it tasted alright. I’ve been giving away a lot of food. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, angel. That’s why I fell for you. Everyone will love your shop when it opens.” Crowley ate the scone, then turned a serious gaze at Aziraphale. “Have you thought about a name for your shop?”

“A name? No I hadn’t.” Aziraphale looked at his cannolis. “I just thought it would be like my bookshop. A.Z. Fell Bakery.”

Crowley scowled. “That will never do. People like exciting names. A play on words.”

“A play on words? That does sound exciting.”

“Yeah. Like Biscuits and Cakes, just doesn’t sound as appealing as Devilish Cakes.”

“Oh that does sound more exciting.” Aziraphale looked down at his cannolis. “I don’t think I could come up with a good one. Crepes and Canoodles?”

“You can do better than that, angel,” Crowley scoffed. A devilish grin then swept his face. “I just came up with the perfect name.”

“Do share, then.” Aziraphale filled the last cannoli and was grabbing a bowl of powdered sugar.

“An Angel’s Cakes.” Aziraphale heard the bowl clatter to the ground. He hadn’t even realized he dropped it. A cloud of powdered sugar covered the ground, but Aziraphale didn’t notice. He bent in half and started laughing. Crowley jumped up and ran over to Aziraphale, making sure he was okay. “Aziraphale?”

“I love it!” Aziraphale stood up and grabbed Crowley’s shoulders. “It’s absolutely perfect!” Aziraphale was so happy he leaned forward and kissed Crowley soundly on the lips. Crowley turned very red. 

“I’m glad you like it, angel. I’ll come up with more names if I get more reactions like that.”

“Oh come now, dear boy.” Aziraphale turned away, as a blush crept up his cheeks. “We need to get these supplies into the Bentley.” He waved his hand and miracled up the mess.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look. “What did you say about miracles?” He pinched some powdered sugar and tossed it at Aziraphale. He got a white dusting on his face. “That it was cheating?”

Aziraphale tried to look mad, but failed miserably. “I said I would rather not miracle supplies over to the cafe. I did not say anything about miracles being used for cleaning up messes.” He scooped up a handful of sugar and flung it at Crowley, covering the front of him lightly in white dust.

Crowley just laughed and pulled Aziraphale close again. He kissed him sweetly. “You taste like sugar.” Aziraphale smiled, and moved to grab some bags of flour.

They loaded the Bentley with baking supplies and Crowley’s plants and headed to the shop. Aziraphale moved his supplies in while Crowley put his plants all around the cafe.

Aziraphale started to set up his kitchen, putting all his tools in a very meticulous order so he would be able to find everything he needed. He had made little signs to put into his display cases. He wanted to be sure that everyone would know exactly what they were getting.

Multiple times he found himself distracted by Crowley, who was hanging planters by the windows and placing big leafy plants in the corner, often breaking to grumble at the plants about behaving themselves.

Aziraphale knew his threats were empty, but the poor dears were always terrified. Aziraphale never meant to, but he found himself copying Crowley and would sometimes without meaning to find himself complaining at his treats that didn’t turn out. He wouldn’t yell, just tell them how disappointed he was that they didn’t turn out, and then toss them into the trash. He never meant to be unkind to the treats, but he often gave them looks and threatened to start over if they didn’t behave. He liked it when they behaved and turned out exactly as he had hoped.

***

Opening day snuck up on Aziraphale before he knew it. The night before he stayed up baking all kinds of desserts. There was a variety of desserts to choose from, so he was sure not to disappoint anyone who came into his shop. As soon as the desserts were done, they were miracled over to his shop, so that he wouldn’t have to bother Crowley about driving him over there. Though Crowley would never mind driving him, Aziraphale didn’t want to bother him while he was sleeping.

Aziraphale barely noticed when Crowley slithered into the kitchen. “Angel? Have you been up all night?”

Aziraphale looked up from the croissant dough he was mixing. “Oh Crowley? Is it morning already? I guess I have then?” He looked sheepishly away.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “I know you are worried about the bakery’s success, but you don’t have anything to worry about. People are already starting to talk about how delicious your treats are that you’ve given away.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “Thank you. You are so supportive. I really appreciate it. I just don’t know what I would do if people didn’t like my desserts. The books weren’t written by me, so it didn’t offend me if people didn’t like them, but this is different.”

“I know angel.” Crowley squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right there with you all day. I will make sure people like your stuff. I’ll use my devilish wiles to tempt them to buy a lot of your delectable food.”

Aziraphale’s face softened. “Thank you. You really don’t need to do that.”

“If it will make you feel better, angel.” Crowley yawned. “So what are you making for breakfast?”

Aziraphale smiled and continued mixing the dough. “I was just about to make some croissants. I have some muffins in the oven at the moment. Is there something you would like?”

“Muffins sound good.” Crowley swaggered over to Aziraphale. “But an angel sounds better.” He put his arms around Aziraphale and kissed him gently. 

“Crowley, you tease. I need to finish the croissants.” Aziraphale gently pushed Crowley away to put the dough on a cookie sheet.

“You have enough food. You should get a little bit of rest. You have a big day.” Crowley put himself between Aziraphale and his obsession.

“I will get some rest after these croissants are in the oven.” He made to move around Crowley, but Crowley held his ground. He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned him around.

“You have been baking all night. You need to sit down for a few minutes.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. “I will look after your croissants and muffins.” Aziraphale gave in and allowed himself to be led to the couch. Crowley went back to the kitchen while Aziraphale stretched out on the couch. He figured he would close his eyes for a minute, just to appease Crowley.

The next thing he knew he was being awoken by Crowley. “Aziraphale. It’s time to be up now.” Crowley was kneeling next to him.

“Crowley? Did you get the muffins out of the oven?” Aziraphale sat up. He must have dozed off. He stood up. “I need to finish the croissants.”

Crowley gently grabbed his arm. “The croissants are all done. It’s just about time to be heading over to make the last few arrangements before you open. You fell asleep for a couple hours.”

“Hours? Why didn’t you wake me?” He walked into the kitchen to see the muffins and croissants sitting there. “Oh. Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale planted a well deserved kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “You are such a treasure to me.”

Crowley turned a delightful shade of red. “It was no trouble, angel. You needed the sleep.” He snapped his fingers and the food disappeared. “You should spruce up and then we’ll head over.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and was suddenly wearing a blue button up shirt and tan pants, with an apron that says, ‘Heavenly Creations Made Fresh Daily’ with a cupcake in the middle. “Alright. I am ready to go.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and led the angel to the Bentley. They arrived at the bakery a whole hour before opening time. Aziraphale was surprised when he saw the sign hanging above the door that said “An Angel’s Cakes” in bright colorful letters.

“Oh Crowley. It looks perfect.” Aziraphale liked the way it contrasted with the light yellow of the building and the bright red and white awning of the building. 

“I had to make it absolutely perfect for my angel.” Crowley said proudly. “Had to have the name where everyone could see it.” Aziraphale made sure to give him another kiss on the cheek before heading inside.

Aziraphale checked that all his food was in the proper order, while Crowley did some last minute reprimands to the plants. He made sure the sugar cookies were right above his angel cake, and that the angel cake was right next to the devil’s food cake. Aziraphale’s nerves were in a jumble. It had been quite a few years since the last time he felt this nervous. The day he was opening his bookshop was stressful, but he hadn’t had Crowley right there to help him through the day. This time he was different. Crowley was right there by his side. Crowley wouldn’t let his shop flop, wouldn’t let him not succeed.

Aziraphale made a cup of tea to help settle his nerves. He turned on his espresso machine, so it would be ready for customers. He sat for a minute watching Crowley with his plants, before making a final look around. Crowley grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly, before opening the door and turning the sign on the door to ‘open’.

Aziraphale was a little shocked at the turn out. There was a line of at least 20 people outside his shop. They all filed in and he took their orders. Some sat and chatted, while others took their goodies on their way.

Aziraphale tried to chat and be friendly with all the customers that came in. Crowley would lurk in the corner of the cafe, misting and berating his plants. Aziraphale found it was very easy to chat to people, and his smile stayed for most of the day. He had missed the interactions he had had daily with his customers. It was so natural for him to help people, that he often found himself knowing what the person would like before they did.

He tried to keep his miracles to a minimum, so that people wouldn’t get wise. But a few times he found he would make sure he had one last trifle for a certain customer, or a pink elephant sugar cookie would suddenly appear. Aziraphale found he loved it when he was able to bring a smile to his customer’s faces when it didn’t mean losing his books in the process.

Often subconsciously he would find himself looking in Crowley’s direction as he made his sales. Crowley’s lips would turn up slightly at the corner, whenever their eyes would catch. Often he would make the “I told you so” face, which always made Aziraphale chuckle.

The day passed in a whirlwind, and Aziraphale was positively gleeful at the end of the day. When he finally turned the sign to closed, he collapsed onto a chair with a sigh. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he finally let himself breathe out the tension.

Crowley sauntered over to him and began massaging his shoulders. “You alright, angel? Seemed like a pretty good first day. If you asked me.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, enjoying the massage. “I’m much better now. Thank you. It did seem fairly busy. I wonder why there were so many. I didn’t make a big deal of it being my opening day.”

“I know you didn’t want to make a big deal, but I had some flyers put up around town to make sure people knew you were opening.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. “You didn’t?!”

“I did. Come on now. Let’s go back. I think we have some very good wine waiting for us. We should celebrate.” Crowley left no time for Aziraphale to complain, and walked out the door to the Bentley. Aziraphale followed behind, slowly thinking up ways to get back at the demon for disobeying his wishes. But as they drove back to the cottage, Aziraphale nearly laughed at the sheer number of flyers he saw. Nearly every tree and post had a flyer attached to it. No wonder so many people had shown up. Crowley had made a very good job of making sure everyone knew about the new bakery.

“Crowley, did you do this all on your own?” Aziraphale finally asked, when they reached the cottage.

“Nah. The Them helped put up all the flyers. They were surprisingly effective with their bikes.” Crowley poured them both a drink. “It was actually Adam’s idea to put flyers up everywhere. He is one smart lad.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That he is.” He moved and sat next to Crowley. “Thank you so much for all your help for making today a success. You really are a nice person.” Aziraphale kissed him before he made his usual protests about not being nice.


End file.
